Not laurels again

I’ve been here before.  For whatever reason, when I feel like my writing career is starting to actually resemble a career more than a hobby, I try to rest on my laurels.  Dumb, pointless, counter-productivething to do.  I need to be writing.  Heck, why would feeling like a real witer make me want to stop writing?  Is it fear of success?  (Possibly.)  Is it laziness?  (Probably a little.)  But the drive to write seems strongest when I’m discouraged, not encouraged.

Not necessarily true.  I didn’t write much last summer — nothing brand new — because I was in a funk about missing out on Clarion West.  Childish thing to do (sensing a pattern here?), but that was me, sulking.  Nevertheless, I hit streaks of no production when I feel good about writing.

A little psychoanalysis suggests a couple possible explanations.  Writing is hard and often unpleasant, so this good feeling about writing doesn’t want to risk being tainted by the negative feelings that accompany writing a difficult passage.  Or Maybe I just fear that the next thing I write won’t be as good as the last thing I wrote.

I am allowing myself the afternoon off to finish my childish procrastination, but I resume writing tonight.  I write better at night anyway (stock excuse #23).  I’ve been sick and I deserve a little recreation time (stock excuse #31) and I only get so many chances a week to have some fun (stock excuse #3).  Excuses or not, I’m chilling for a few hours.  I’ll update tomorrow as to whether I made any progress.

And no, I’m not pulling the words-a-week I’m supposed to be aiming for, paltry as that sum was (3000 I think?).  I need to do better.